


sonya in the club

by pyladic



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: Alcohol, Character Study, Deleted Scenes, Gen, Sonya Is Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 21:04:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14457720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyladic/pseuds/pyladic
Summary: Sonya is good, or at least, she tries to be.





	sonya in the club

It was late, much later than Sonya would usually be out, but there she was, hovering in the doorway of one of Moscow’s more notoriously raunchy clubs, watching her cousin from across the room. Natasha was flushed and laughing, her pretty head thrown back as Anatole Kuragin poured her another glass of vodka. Sonya felt a flare of anger in her gut. Natasha wasn’t this stupid, didn’t do things like this. It had to be that Kuragin, dragging her reputation through the mud.

But the more she watched, the happier Natasha seemed to be, tossing back the shot and coughing, leaning into Anatole’s hand as he patted her back. He looked perfectly at ease, she noticed, anger growing into a steady flame. As if he didn’t know exactly what he was doing!

Someone bumped into her from behind, and Sonya stumbled forward until a hand caught her by the shoulder. “Sofia Alexandrovna?” the owner of the hand asked, disbelieving, and she turned to see the face of Fyodor Dolokhov, looking equally shocked to see her. “What are you doing here?”

It made perfect sense that he would be here, too, she thought, shaking off his hand. Everyone knew he was a bad man, it was only rational to add ruining the reputation of an impressionable young girl to his repertoire.

“I came to get my cousin,” she muttered, looking down at her feet.

“Your cousin?” he repeated, eyebrows going higher, and glanced into the crowded room. A muscle jumped in his jaw at the sight of them, pressed close enough to touch, and he swore quietly. Sonya twitched, taken aback at the venom in it. “I’m going to kill him.”

So he wasn’t involved in this, she thought, watching him clench his hands into fists. Perhaps she’d misjudged the man a little. That would be a first.

“He’s going to ruin her.” The sound of her own voice surprised her, and she looked down again, abashed. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t –” The apology bubbled out of her without thought, but she couldn’t quite halt it, try as she might. Why should she apologize? She’d done nothing wrong.

Dolokhov held up a hand, and she closed her mouth with an audible click. “Don’t,” he said, and he didn’t sound fierce, or rakish, or all the other things she had heard him to be. He just sounded tired, and after nights of sitting up to make sure Natasha didn’t do anything foolish, she could relate. How many times had Dolokhov been here, she wondered? How many times had he pulled his friend out of the consequences of his own actions?

“He’s an idiot,” Dolokhov continued, and was that a hint of fondness in his voice? She would have to consider that later. He sighed. “I’ll go get your cousin. Stay here.” With that, he set off through the club, and Sonya watched as he untangled the two of them from each other, and led Natasha back towards the door, holding Anatole off with his other hand. He looked, Sonya thought, very much like a man who had seen this all before, and wasn’t terribly impressed with how it was going this time. He nudged Natasha gently towards her, and the two of them collided in a tangle of limbs.

“Sonyushka,” Natasha said, slurring her words, “I’ve been having the most wonderful time.”

“I can see that.” Sonya slipped an arm around her waist to support her. Some instinct made her look back into the club, and she obeyed it.

Dolokhov appeared to be arguing with his friend, gesturing wildly with one hand, and Anatole didn’t seem to be putting up much of a fight, looking down at his feet and nodding along to the lecture he was undoubtedly receiving.

Anatole looked up suddenly and said something she couldn’t make out, a cheeky grin accompanying the words, and Dolokhov stopped short, anger turning to exasperation. He cuffed the side of Anatole’s head gently, and tugged him in close to ruffle his hair. Anatole laughed and tried to bat his hands away, but only ended up pressing closer, leaning against him to balance his weight.

Sonya flushed. They were close, too close for mere camaraderie, and there was a strange softness in Dolokhov’s eyes she hadn’t imagined possible from him. There was something there, something nebulous and shifting that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Dolokhov looked up, staring straight at her as if she’d called out to him. He narrowed his dark eyes, scrutinizing the distressed look on her face, and nodded, a faint smile curling in the corner of his mouth.

She turned away as if she’d been burned, hauling Natasha after her none too gently, ignoring her startled protests as they went towards the troika. Whatever it meant, she thought, she didn’t want to know. She’d take care of her cousin, and as for Dolokhov, he’d take care of his – whatever they were. Things were going to be fine, she reminded herself, and only wished she could believe it.


End file.
